


just how we like it

by reflectionslie (fallsink)



Category: Day6 (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-24
Updated: 2018-10-24
Packaged: 2019-08-06 17:44:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16392197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fallsink/pseuds/reflectionslie
Summary: it’s the little things, it always is





	just how we like it

**Author's Note:**

> this is for the wonderful anon who graced my tumblr inbox a while ago! I tried to do a happy ending, but I felt like there would be a continuation eventually and I really adored all the snippets that you gave me. I hope this is what you wanted~

These days, it’s getting better, he thinks, as he tugs on his heavy jacket against Seoul’s fall rain. These days (months, really) since you left to the States to study. Bit by bit… little by little...

But it’s the little things, it always is. When you were together, it was the glue that held you together, the foundation to keep you close. Finding the little things that you made you special and made you happy.

Like how you always like sleeping on the side closest to the window, so every time he wakes up towards the morning light, you’re the first thing he sees. Or how you like your coffee with two sugars and no milk and every time, you smell it deeply before taking a sip. Every little thing that builds and piles up in his chest with affection.

Except now, all the little things are the sandy trap that ensnares, so often unexpected and hard.

When he knocks against Wonpil’s bedroom door to make sure he doesn’t miss class again, he’s painfully struck with a memory that suddenly and fully takes him. 

As he’s rushing down the stairs and out the door to the coffee shop, as if trying to outrun his thoughts, he can feel the wood rubbing against the back of his knuckles and hand. Just like how it would against the smoothness against your cheek.

Just as you had liked it.

Trying to brush away the lingering touch and thoughts, he orders his coffee black and resists adding two sugars by walking straight through the shop doors into the cold rain.

* * *

 

 

He leaves his hair down more often now. It hides his eyes and the other boys complain, thinking it’s a relapse back into the insecurity he had before you. Before you filled him with so much love and you that there was no room left. Even though his eyes still are too puffy from the sporadic tears, he starts to wear it up and away. 

But he can’t admit that during the nights where he’s alone and his hair, facades, and defenses are down, everything about him helpless and aching, he remembers, imagines, pretends. He can’t admit that if he just closes his eyes, he can imagine the bangs ticking his skin are yours, your nose nuzzling up against his in the most vulnerably tender moments.

“Hey,” you’d whisper then, just to catch his attention, so you could pull him down to press your lips together before he could even think of an answer.

And he could just pretend that love was enough, even your dreams are taking separate paths apart. Away from each other.

* * *

 

 

The nights he doesn’t work so hard that his sleep becomes dreamless are the ones he misses you most. 

Because the time difference makes it that that is the time you two can talk. His nights and your days, but to him, it doesn’t make a difference. Not when you have never left his mind.

It’s easier talking to you now as friends, once the initial awkwardness was worn away. He still isn’t proud of how he had begged you to stay together as a couple or anything. But it didn’t matter. He had just wanted you, in any way he could.  

Though this was better than nothing (nothing), it lingers like neglected coffee - so bitter from having gone so cold.

So, he falls asleep again and again every night, thinking about why no one talks about how friends can break your heart too.

 

* * *

 

“You look so tired.” You can’t help the honest words that stumble out when you break apart from the hug. 

It is winter now and you had made it back for the holidays. It’s too much and not enough. Seeing him older, successful with music, but still so the same in all the ways you had fallen for all those years ago… You wonder if he feels this way about you too. 

He doesn’t answer right away. Just straightens, falls back, everything about him crumbling. His eyes have always been the most expressive and honest part of him, and it’s especially true now as he looks at you with this terribly mixed look on his older features. You think that two years must shape both of your faces in the same way, because the loneliness and pain are the same.

“I’m always tired...” his whisper trails off into the chilly winter wind like the last leaf that marks the end of autumn.

He doesn’t finish it, he doesn’t need to.

Bittersweet aching rises in his chest when he watches your expression change from surprise to hurt to resignation, because at least he knows that you still remember.

Remember lying in window couch that faces the west, tangled together and safe with spring day breezes. Or in that shitty makeshift hammock you two had put together in the backyard. Sticky skin against each other but neither of you care. Sunlight bleaching your vision blind, nothing but heat and summer and him.

“You tired?” you had asked, tilting your head back from under his chin to get a good look at him.

Then he didn’t have glasses on, so you felt so warmly intimate, the way his eyes were so deeply reverent and soft as he ran his guitar fingers against the curve of your cheek, just as you like. Remembering how his slightly cracked lips fit so perfectly against yours as they moved slow words like honey against your skin. 

“I’m always tired,” he had murmured against your tongue, his voice so heavy with sleepiness, warmth, and adoration, “but never of you.”

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr original](http://daystring6.tumblr.com/post/176570423950/)


End file.
